A Second Chance
by LittleMewLugia
Summary: Prowl goes to watch over the body of Jazz, but when he finds that Jazz is not as dead as he seemed, he decides to take the second chance he has been given.
1. Chapter 1

A Second Chance.

Summary: Prowl goes to watch over the body of Jazz, but when he finds that Jazz is not as dead as he seemed, he decides to take the second chance he has been given.

Disclaimer: Paramount/DreamWorks, and Hasbro's. Not mine and never will be.

Pairings: ProwlxJazz

Warning: If you don't like slash, stop reading now, because this story will soon contain more slash than an intelligent, homicidal, caffeine-fuelled octopus wielding a scalpel in each tentacle.

A Second Chance.

Chapter One: Death Watch.

Prowl was surprised at how quickly a human had become his preferred company in his spare time since he had come to Earth.

He was talking to Sam again, a few weeks after he had landed and had found out the painful news concerning Jazz. Had found out how Jazz had challenged Megatron, buying vital time for the Autobots and humans, but paying with his life. Jazz had died a hero, and Prowl hadn't even been there, hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, or sort out the confused tangle of feelings their last meeting had left him with.

It had unnerved Prowl how easily he had found himself opening up to Sam, in a way he could never have opened up to his own fighting comrades. After all, he had known them far longer, so he had been confused as to why he could open up so easily to a complete stranger. He came to two conclusions while pondering this anomaly.

Firstly, perhaps it was _because _Sam _was_ a stranger that he could let his feelings show. Everyone else knew him as the strong, calm, controlled tactician. If he were to let the extent of his grief show in front of them, he risked unnerving, and possibly upsetting and demoralising, his friends. With Sam – a stranger – this would not be a problem. Sam had enough emotional detachment to mean that this was not a concern.

Secondly, as a member of such a fragile and short-lived species, Sam was no stranger to the concept – and the _reality_ - of death. Sam had grieved for friends and grandparents who had died, and had faced the very real possibility of his _own_ death - from what Prowl had heard from the boy, his mate, and his own fighting comrades - several times within the space of one Earth cycle of twenty-four hours.

So this was another evening – one of several – that he was once again talking to Sam about his feelings for, and about, Jazz. He was in the part of the med bay housing Jazz's inert form. Although it was too late, he wanted to spend as much time close to Jazz's physical form as he could. '_For all the good it will do_.' he thought but did not vocalise.

"He suggested that we form an emotional and physical attachment, Sam." Prowl told the human, who listened attentively. "It wasn't that I didn't want to _at all_, Jazz had a most pleasing shape, and always kept himself looking good, it's just that I thought that it wasn't the right _time,_ that there would always be _later_, and I told him this. He was disappointed, I know, but he accepted my decision, and we fought side by side as we always had done. A few millennia later, we separated, we _had_ to, we were to lead two separate units. We had hoped to meet again at the next planetfall. That was here, and by the time I arrived – the Mission City battle had happened and it was too late. I thought there would be time for intimacy later, but now he's dead, and now there _is_ no later."

The human leaned over to put a hand on Prowl's leg – the easiest thing for Sam to reach in his seated position - and nodded solemnly.

"That sucks, Prowl. I guess even I, and I _know _I'm gonna die one day, don't think that it could happen any time. I mean, Mikaela and I have decided to wait before getting married and starting a family. The reality is, that I could go out of my front door tomorrow and get knocked down and killed."

"Not if _Bumblebee_ has anything to say about it, you won't." Prowl stated. Sam smiled at the thought of his protective yellow Autobot guardian, and nodded.

"So I guess that makes it less likely to happen to me, but even taking Bumblebee out of the picture, the odds against it are higher than the chances for, so we don't really_ think_ about it. Nobody _ever_ thinks it'll happen to them, but when you think about it, why _wouldn't_ it? It's gotta happen to _somebody_, so what makes _me_ so immune?" Sam let out a short laugh.

"Mission City was a case in point. Who would have thought that _I_, boring, ordinary seventeen-year-old Samuel Witwicky, would end up owning a pair of dusty old glasses that would bring giant murderous alien robots down on my ass – er, that is, aft – and end up being contacted and protected by _other_ giant, but less murderous, alien robots? Who would have thought I'd end up face to face with the biggest and most murderous of the lot and _survive_? The odds against it are _astronomical_ – but it happened."

Prowl's response was low, and barely audible.

"_You_ survived, but Jazz _didn't_." Then he spoke again. "Not that I would have preferred Jazz to survive rather than you, Sam. That came out the wrong way."

"Don't be silly, of _course_ you would've, you barely know me, but I know you didn't mean it to sound that way." Sam said. "I know what you meant, Prowl."

Sam suddenly felt awkward, like he was intruding.

"Look – have you ever heard of the human night watch or death watch ceremony?" Sam didn't give Prowl time to reply, but carried on talking.

"Friends and family of the deceased stand vigil over their body. It used to be done with the intention of keeping evil spirits away from the body, but now is usually done as respect. Why don't you stay with Jazz's body? Talk to him like you would if he were still alive, pay your respects in whatever way is right for you." Sam headed for the door.

"I'll leave you to it, it's a private thing, I want to get an early night tonight anyway." Sam told the black and white mech. "Night, Prowl."

Prowl watched the human go, then he turned to approach the inert form of his friend.

"Jazz….I'm so sorry." He said, resting a hand briefly on one silver shoulder. He couldn't really think of anything else to say, his pain and remorse were at the forefront of his processors. Of course, if Jazz really _had_ been still alive, Prowl would be doing more than merely _talking_.

He remembered Sam had suggested paying his respects. He decided he would, and in the custom of their kind, pulse Spark-energy over the body as a way of saying goodbye, and a mark of the esteem he had held the silver saboteur in. Standing in front of the lifeless silver mech, he split his chest plates and shuttered his optics, concentrating on sending out waves of Spark energy to wash over Jazz's body, the last thing he could do for the mech who had been his friend and would have been his lover.

He was so deep in thought he didn't hear the whine of starting up mechanicals, or see the dull visor begin to glow blue. What pulled him to awareness was a slightly off-pitch, quiet vocalisation.

'P-Prowl? Tha' you?"

Prowl's optics unshuttered so fast that they clicked loudly against the edges of his sockets. Jazz's head was turned, towards him, the visor flickering with light. A hand moved, the body quivered, and the thin lips curved upwards at the corners.

For a moment, Prowl lost the ability to vocalise. Then he stammered out 'J-Jazz? Is that _you _Jazz?"

"Well, I-I'm not M-Megatron." Jazz said with a smile.

Prowl's mouth opened but no sound came out. However his comm. was unaffected, and he called out on it as loud as he could muster:

**:RATCHET!:**


	2. Chapter 2

A Second Chance.

Chapter Two.

A/N: 1 Joorabout 6.5 hours.

Several Joors Later.

Ratchet stepped out of the med bay, looking weary.

"Jazz is in recharge now: he will be his usual cheerful self once he'd done. We were very fortunate that that is the case, a couple more orns and he would have been beyond saving."

"Everyone said he was dead already. What happened?" asked Prowl.

"Sparks are usually very strong, and even when damaged, will give off a measurable energy." Ratchet said. "The exception to that general rule is if a Spark goes dormant. It powers down so far that it is almost undetectable, even to a medic. Dormancy can happen for a variety of reasons, but the most common one is if the Spark is damaged or depleted of energy. Under such circumstances, medical scans can usually pick up on this. For a reason I am still unaware of, my scans did not detect Jazz's damaged Spark trapped far up in the top of his Spark chamber. Be assured that once I have recharged myself, I shall be running a full diagnostic on my systems to find and deal with any glitches."

"So, his Spark was there but too weak to detect?" Prowl asked. Ratchet nodded.

"The damage it sustained when Megatron tore him in two, the loss of energy, would have forced it into dormancy. A Spark cannot survive in dormancy with so little energy: eventually Jazz _would_ have died. However, Prowl, it seems that it was your mark or respect that saved it, infusing it with the energy it needed not just to come out of the dormant state, but to begin the healing it needed to power up and allow Jazz to awaken. Jazz is alive because of _you_, Prowl." the medic stated.

"Well, I for one am very glad." stated the tactician. "I guess I should get back to my duties."

"When Jazz awakens, I will call you." Ratchet says. "Prime has also stated that you are relieved if all duties, except in cases of emergency, for as long as you need so that you and Jazz can get reacquainted." Ratchet told him.

Although Prowl's faceplates betrayed no emotion, inwardly Prowl was grinning.

If Jazz still felt the same, he – or more precisely they - were certainly going to _enjoy_ that bit!

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

The call came two joors later.

"Prowl. Jazz is awake, please come and collect him." Ratchet told him. Prowl commed Ironhide to take over duty at the gate and headed into the Base.

He walked into the med bay and saw Ratchet giving a smiling Jazz a last scan.

"Hey, Prowler, you here to get me outta here?" he asked.

"I will assume that your injuries have caused some memory difficulties." Prowl said. "My name is _Prowl_. Not Prowler, and not Prowlie." He said.

Jazz blinked his optics and looked up at Ratchet.

"He hasn't changed a bit, has he?" he said to the medic. Ratchet put his fingertips on the little saboteur's silver shoulders and gave him a little push.

"Find out for yourself." He said with a little smile.

"Any special instructions? What's he medically allowed to do and not do?" Prowl asked.

"Well, he's been completely fixed to the best of my abilities, so he can pretty much do whatever he likes." Ratchet said, turning away as Prowl put a hand on Jazz and began to steer Jazz towards the med bay exit.

"Oh actually, there's one thing." Ratchet said. The two turned to look at him.

"Jazz, no heroics like last time. You are not to try and take on Starscream single-handed in a fight." He said. "I've just spent joors putting you back together; I don't want to have to do _that_ again in a hurry."

"Don't worry, I won't let him take Starscream on single-handed." Prowl said, who had mentally decided that if he had any say, Jazz would never have to face anybody alone again. He patted the saboteur on his shiny shoulder and said "Come on, Jazz, I'll show you around, I hear this base wasn't built until after the Mission City battle, so you won't know it."

Out in the corridor, he steered him slightly up.

"That was the med bay, and this is the rec room, Jazz, and everyone wants to see you again." he said.

As the door opened a soft murmur of conversation sounded. A red, yellow and black mech was just heading for the door, and it was he who saw them first.

"Hey, Jazz, it's good to see you again! He said, approaching him.

"Blaster! No-one told me you'd got 'ere!" he said, glaring at Prowl in mock-annoyance.

"Like I've had the TIME?" Prowl replied. "I have only just come to get you after your repairs. Yes, there have been a few more landings since the big battle, both of friends and enemies."

"Look, I'm about to start a duty shift, but I'll catch you later, Jazz." Blaster said. "These humans have some fascinating music forms I'd like to discuss with you."

"Okay, Blaster, laters." said Jazz. Blaster nodded to Jazz as he exited the room.

By now, almost everybody in the rec room had stopped what they were doing.

"Hey Jazz, it must have been a dreadful experience, almost dying and all that, but you're here now, with all of us, you're among friends here, and we'll help you push it back in your memory, there's lots of fun things here, we'll show you them all, and it's good to know you are back with us." said a big grey and chrome mech.

"Bluestreak!" cried Jazz happily. He was strangely fond of the big gunner who typically used a hundred words to say what could be said in ten. "Glad t'see you too!"

"Hey, he's here, Jazz is here, it's true, he's alive!" said a Bumblebee-sized red mech.

"Heya, Cliffjumper, you made it too?" Jazz said. "So who else is here?"

He was distracted by a touch to one shoulder. Turning, he looked puzzled.

"Did you touch my shoulder?" he asked Prowl.

"No, I did not." The tactician stated. As he did, Jazz felt a touch to the top of his head. He whirled. Nobody was in range. He took a step forward, felt hands grab his doorwings, stopping him from advancing any further. He turned his head around, expecting it to be Prowl, although such a prank seemed out of character for the tactician. However, Prowl was stood back watching impassively, and there seemed to be nobody behind him – which told Jazz exactly who his 'assailant' was.

He laughed.

"Hello to you too, Mirage. Now, letta go o' my wings if ya please." He said.

A giggle sounded, but the hands released the doorwings, and a few seconds later Mirage shimmered into view, laughing.

"Sorry, Jazz, but I have just been relieved by Blaster and came into the room to find your doorwings waving about in front of me and you oblivious to my presence. It was too good an opportunity." He looked around, looked at Jazz's hands.

"Hey! Have none of you lot had the manners to let him get an energon? Or to get one for him?" he said. "Shame on you, hold on Jazz, I'll be getting myself one, I'll getcha one." Mirage said.

"In answer to your question, the others who got here who are all on duty, are Hound, Powerglide, and Air Raid." He gave Jazz a sly wink. "Not forgetting either the arrivals of Elita-One and Arcee, who said the rest of their team are en-route."

"So, we got femmes, - and fliers!" Jazz said. That should even out the score a little. We have people who can fight Starscream in his own element."

"Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Thrust, Dirge, _and_ Ramjet, actually." said Mirage, looking glum. "They have all landed."

Jazz groaned. "The two most Pitspawned trines of the lot have both landed with all members accounted for?" We only have two fliers against that lot?" he asked.

"Three, actually." said Prowl. Jazz turned back to him as Mirage struck out to the energon dispenser.

"It seems this planets poles attract our kind. Megatron was not the only one of our kind entombed in the ice. We found a big flier there, seems he left on a scientific expedition before the war. Goes by the name Skyfire, he used to be Starscream's friend. At first he professed himself neutral, but after he found out what Starscream and the rest of them were planning to do with this world, he decided to join our side." Prowl explained. "He's still hopeful that in time he may be able to use his past association with Starscream to negotiate some sort of ceasefire, but at the moment, Starscream doesn't seem to be in a listening mood."

"Hi Jazz." Said another voice, and Jazz turned back to the room at large as Bumblebee, Mirage right behind him, approached. Sam was perched in Bumblebee's right hand, and waved at Jazz too, giving him a thumbs-up. Jazz returned the gesture as best he could with his finger arrangements, then gratefully took the cube of energon Mirage handed him. Bumblebee carefully put Sam on a nearby surface, then threw his arms around Jazz in a prodigious hug.

"Jazz!" he cried. "You're alive!"

Holding the mug of energon away carefully with one hand, Jazz brought his other up to pat the yellow scout's back gently.

"Hey, Bee, easy, I'm okay. Chill, 'k?" he said. Bumblebee gave Jazz one more squeeze before dropping his arms and stepping back.

"Have you two discussed what you were telling me earlier?" Sam asked Prowl, who had stepped over to rescue Sam from the surface he was on.

"Um – not yet, I'm giving Jazz his base orientation tour." Prowl said.

Sam stared at Prowl and rolled his eyes in disbelief. This human gesture never failed to fascinate the Autobots, who with their fixed-shutter optic arrangement had never seen the gesture until they had met humans.

"Prowl, the base orientation tour can wait! You two need to talk!" He looked around the room at the other Autobots. "_Alone_."

"We could use the chill-out room." said Prowl.

"Nope, Skyfire's in there, resting." Cliffjumper said.

"Prime's office is free." said Mirage. "He was taking a shift in the main control room when I left so I know."

" I know the code to Prime's room, come on Jazz, we've got to talk." Prowl said. He handed Sam back to Bumblebee, put his hand on Jazz's shoulder, and steered him out of the rec-room and down to Optimus' office.

Once inside, Jazz turned to Prowl.

"Okay, Prowl, wha' was Sam talkin' about? What's this all important conversation Sam's sayin' we need?"


	3. Chapter 3

A Second Chance.

Chapter Three.

Prowl paused to collect his words as Jazz looked at him expectantly.

"Jazz, do you remember the conversation we had a while before we left for our different units?" the tactician asked.

"Which one, we had lotsa differen' conversations before we left. To which one would ya be referrin' to?" asked the smaller silver 'bot. Prowl glared at Jazz briefly – the saboteur wasn't making this at all easy.

"The one we had about taking our friendship further, and becoming physically and emotionally closer and more intimate. The one where I foolishly decided that it wasn't the right time, that we should wait till later."

"Yeah, I remember that one." said Jazz. So what're ya saying? That the right time is now, or that ya still wanna wait?" Jazz asked, cocking his head at the black-and-white mech in front of him, but making no other move.

It was Prowl who closed the distance, laying one hand on the silver mech's shoulder.

"I think the right time is now, that is, if you do too?" he asked the smaller 'bot. "What do you think?" he asked, fighting to keep control as his inner fears mushroomed. Had Jazz changed his mind, or found somebody else in his absence. After getting Jazz back, was he going to effectively lose him again?

"Ya know what I think, Prowlie?" Jazz said.

"What?" Prowl asked.

"I think we're wastin' precious time, man." Jazz said. Then he had magnetised his hands and feet and crawled up the slightly larger 'bot so Jazz's hands were on his shoulders, and they were face to face. Then Jazz leaned in before Prowl could say any more, and pressed his metal lips to Prowl's.

Prowl's reaction was almost instinctive. He lifted his arms to circle the saboteur's body, to support and embrace him at the same time. He returned the kiss with equal intensity, revelling in the feel of Jazz's engine purrs which were sending vibrations through his own chassis. Somewhere in his processors, the possibility that this was neither the time nor the place to start interfacing briefly stirred, but was swept away as quickly by the rising tide of emotion. Prowl had been accused often enough of being unemotional, but the simple truth was that he was simply good at disguising the depths to which his emotions ran. Given the correct trigger, he was as emotional as any other 'bot, and by Primus, Jazz had just hit the spot!

Jazz shifted position, trying to hike himself higher up on Prowl, and Prowl staggered: Jazz was only a little smaller than him and the configuration of the two joined 'bots was distinctly top-heavy. Prowl backed up, felt his aft hit the edge of something large and flat, and turned, briefly using an arm to sweep aside the objects that lay atop it. Luckily they were either not breakable or of a tough material: as the objects from the top of the Prime's desk scattered over the floor, Prowl lay Jazz atop the Autobot leader's desk, and carefully pulled the magnetised hands from his shoulders as he broke the kiss.

He released Jazz's hands to use his own to pin the saboteur's shoulders to the desk as he pressed his lips to the silver 'bot's neck seam, kissing it and teasing it with his metal glossa, probing and rubbing at the sensitive edges. Jazz squirmed, crying out as his lover stimulated an area that was sensitive in almost all Cybertronians, be they mech or femme, Autobot or Decepticon. His body twisted on the desk as he arched up, and his arms rose and his hands sought and found the back of Prowl's cranial unit. The sharp-tipped digits gently explored the tactician's helm, probing and pressing into every crack and seam they found, sending hot pulses firing along Prowl's circuitry.

His hands lifted from Jazz's shoulders to slide up his neck and settle about his audios, caressing and stroking the delicate structures lovingly. Jazz's audios, he realised, were definitely sensitive: the silver 'bot beneath him cried out as he fingered the textured equipment, moaning and gasping in a manner that could not be interrupted as anything other than desire.

At that point, Prowl himself twitched as those clever fingers discovered and explored his sensitive sensor-chevron.

"Jazz-AH!" he cried, arching at the contact and faltering in his own digital manipulation. His jerk pulled him free of the teasing silver appendages, and Jazz looked up uncertainly at his two-tone partner. who immediately brought his heads back down and began stroking the audios again.

"No, J-Jazz, please don't st-stop." Prowl stuttered out, his vents cycling faster and more erratically. Jazz replaced his fingers on the chevron and stroked the two prongs in a manner that knocked any last lingering doubts of the suitability of what they were doing and where straight into subspace.

Prowl took his hands from the saboteur's delicate audios and placed them on his waist to move the little silver 'bot further on to the table, and sighed in relief as he slid on next to him, balanced on his side. He used one hand to prop himself up: the other he began running along Jazz's waist and hip, up and down and along the smooth curved lines of his thighs. Prowl had to admire Jazz's style: not only had he chosen an alt that looked good as a car, but one that made the translation to robot beautifully. Jazz's gorgeously curved limbs could be attributed to the designers of the Solstice he had scanned.

Jazz sighed and the blue hue of his visor dimmed as he began to hum in pleasure. Prowl looked down at his friend with a sudden surge of gratitude. This beautiful, gorgeous mech had chosen to offer himself to him, and like an idiot, he had almost thrown that chance away. He thanked Primus that he'd been given this glorious second chance. Jazz had had the right of it earlier: they _had_ been wasting time, and Prowl did not intend to waste another astrosecond. Sliding down a little, he began running his fingertips over Jazz's radiator grille and bestowing kisses on that gloriously curved waist.

Jazz cried out and arched again, and Prowl took that opportunity to slide one of his hands under Jazz's body and stroke that wonderfully supple spinal structure. The hand stroked up and down and Jazz reached for Prowl's own back, but as Prowl's head was down at Jazz's waist, Jazz could only reach the head again: one hand went to the chevron again as the other traced down to Prowl's own audios.

Jazz whined in desire: he had never realised the staid tactician had such skill in interfacing, never realised how much passion the mech possessed deep inside, hidden beneath his accepted reserve. He felt privileged to be the one who was able to help him shed the reserve like an old, unwanted alt, to be the one to release that passion. He had always suspected there were hidden depths to Prowl, and as the tactician cried out and his grip tightened, Jazz was thankful that he was in a position now to plumb them.

Prowl caressed the silver mech's back, then wriggled his other arm under Jazz's back. Propping himself up on his elbows, he used one hand to lift Jazz from the table surface, enough that he could touch and begin to caress one of his sensitive doorwings. Jazz twitched and cried out again, the touch was driving him towards overload, but he couldn't touch Prowl's own door wings, didn't want to go into overload and leave Prowl still needful, still charged. Much as he wanted to overload he tried to fight it, he wanted to give Prowl pleasure the way Prowl was giving pleasure to him. He had no idea that Prowl was closer to overload than he realised: Prowl got a charge from caressing his lover as much as from being caressed by him.

Unaware of the smaller mech's dilemma, Prowl caressed the lines of the door wing, dipped his head again to touch his glossa against Jazz's chest and teasingly probe at his seams and catches with it. Prowl felt Jazz's charge building as the smaller 'bot bucked and squealed in desire. Prowl wanted to make Jazz overload, could feel that he himself was close to the edge. Jazz's touches to his sensitive audios and his sensor array were pushing him closer to that overload, although e suspected that Jazz would be the first to go. He didn't mind, when he rebooted maybe he could get Jazz to finish what he had started?

Both the mechs were so preoccupied that neither of them heard the door to the office open and then close. Nether was aware that they were no longer alone in the office, that they were being watched, that the watcher could see the situation. Jazz's optics were flashing on and off as he tried to hold back his impending overload, and Prowl's optics were focused on Jazz's chest, so neither of them saw the watcher silently approach.

The touch of hands on Prowl's doorwings was unexpected but skilled, and Prowl was too far gone at that point to wonder whose hands they were. They were too big and the wrong configuration to be Jazz's, but Prowl was beyond reasoning this and beyond caring. The skilled caresses were all he needed to throw him straight into one of the biggest overloads he had ever experienced. Energy crackled over his frame as he arched into the hands and screamed Jazz's name, even as the safeties kicked in and temporarily shut him down to guard against overheating.

Jazz himself was equally close to overloading, and as the energy of Prowl's overload washed over him, it pushed Jazz into overload as well. He arched, cried out, and his limbs locked, he shook violently as his engine revved up to it's maximum. Then he too went limp, and the blue of his visor dimmed as he slid into a light recharge.

Optimus Prime looked down with content at the two mechs. He had seen How Jazz was holding back, guessed the problem and acted accordingly.

Anything to help…


	4. Chapter 4

A Second Chance.

Chapter Four.

As Optimus watched patiently, Prowl and Jazz came out of their offlined states, both aware that something unusual had happened, that somebody else had joined them in their celebration of each other.

Optimus could have left at any stage. He could have slipped out as they recovered. He could have crept out as they roused. He did neither, instead, he just stood there and waited.

As the two mechs separated and turned, they spotted Optimus. Prowl's optics widened but Jazz just chuckled.

"Thanks for the helpin' hand, Boss, wanna come in and have a more reciprocal role?" he invited with a saucy wink and a provocative chest-thrust.

Optimus was tempted, but did not wish to intrude on the two's reunion.

"This is your time together. I can leave, lock the door and ensure you're not disturbed," he suggested.

"No, Prime, it is no intrusion. You are undoubtedly more skilled than either of us. Your participation would be valued," Prowl stated.

"Yeah, Optimus, come on!" Jazz laughed. "I believe the human expression is "the more the merrier."

Optimus needed no more persuasion. It had been a long time since he had engaged in interfacing for the sheer pleasure of it for himself. He had done so to relieve tension, reinforce trust, reassure and help to heal, but not, for a long time, to simply enjoy himself. He had been invited, it would be rude to refuse, surely?

He stepped forwards, extending his arms towards the two; they gripped his wrists and drew him down, allowing him to gather them close as they both engaged in a detailed exploration of their Leader's body. Curious digits probed at seams and teased grillework, caressed vent-entrances and stroked at edges. Optimus twitched and gasped, tensing under their ministrations, his own hands finding their way to delicate sensor arrays and doorwings.

Prowl gasped as a finger first poked at gently, than stroked a door hinge, and as Prowl's own fingers ran along the joins of Optimus' battle mask, the two halves parted, revealing a mouth whose corners were curved in a delighted sensuous smile. Prowl was unable to control himself any further: his own derma moved forwards to capture those of his Leader in a heated kiss.

Optimus responded with a matching passion, his hand pressing on Prowl's back to hold him tight against him, as Prowl's hands moved down to Optimus' neck to caress and stroke cables and wires. Optimus groaned into his tactician's mouth, both at that touch and the dexterous and gentle fingers of the silver saboteur, who was touching and caressing his abdominal grille. In retaliation, he found one of Jazz's upper wheels and began kneading it sensuously. Jazz's engine kicked in as he slid lower in order to tease a fuel valve of Optimus' with his glossa, which brought a deep groan and a shudder of desire from the Prime. Jazz, smiled, and moved one of his hands over to Prowl, slipping slender, pointed digit-tips into a handy seam.

Prowl gasped and jerked, the motion involuntarily separating his and Optimus' derma: Optimus moved his hand up to cup Prowl's head before pulling it back down in order to resume the interrupted kiss. Optimus' strong yet careful glossa entered the tactician's mouth cavity, skilfully exploring the space, finding the tactician's own glossa, the tip twisting around to capture and tease it forwards, the two twining as Prowl responded eagerly. It left Optimus' hand free to slide back down to caress a doorwing, as his other continued to massage Jazz's tyre.

The saboteur, in the meantime, moved his other hand to a side-seam of Optimus, both hands teasing wires and rubbing nodes as his glossa plunged deep into Optimus' valve, and his engine vibrated against his leader's abdomen. Optimus twitched and keened into Prowl's mouth at this stimulation, that and Prowl's own ministrations on his neck cables. Optimus' own engine growled into life, the deep, powerful vibrations transmitted through his two officer's frames, and, so stimulated, Prowl's own engine-tone joined the other two a few astroseconds later.

All were building a charge, but under the double assault, the larger mech didn't stand much of a chance: as the hands and glossas of his officers probed and teased ever more sensitive areas and his charge snowballed, Optimus suddenly hit overload, tensing and shouting as he arched and his hands clutched at the two smaller mechs. As his optics flared whitely and then died and his engine roared, declined to a purr and then stilled, the energy backwash pushed the other two closer to their own overloads, but not far enough to tip them into it.

"I-I suppose we should…get off and finish beside him," Prowl managed to say.

"W-why, Prowl?" asked Jazz. "He's b-big enough and comfortable enough that we can finish here."

Prowl's optics widened as he reached for Jazz: the thought of interfacing on top of Optimus as if he was a living berth had a certain arousing quality to it, and he was not about to argue. He doubted Optimus would mind much, if at all, and, twisting to one side, brought his hands down to caress one of Jazz's antenna with one, and caress the other top wheel with his other. Jazz for his part drew the hand in Optimus' seam out and reached up to caress the sensor-chevron on Prowl's forehead. The other hand he left in Prowl's seam, continuing to stimulate the interesting structured his skilled digits found. He removed his glossa from Optimus' valve and twisted his head up, seeking a kiss, and only then found he was too low down in relation to Prowl's head.

He cursed softly, craning his head up futilely: Prowl laughed gently, slid the hand on the wheel to Jazz's back, and drew him up, pulling him up and close, close enough so they finally could lock derma in a kiss that was equally passionate on both sides.

As Jazz found a sensitive part of the chevron, Prowl growled deep into Jazz's mouth as they touched glossas and explored each other's mouths with heated abandon. As they moaned into each other's mouths, hands moved from teasing to embracing, holding and grabbing at each other, each thrum of their respective engines pushing their charge higher.

Just as their overload hit them simultaneously, a slight shift beneath them told them that Optimus was rebooting. Again, the bigger mech didn't stand a chance: still sensitised by his earlier overload, the backwash from the two mechs on top of him pushed him straight into a second overload. Together, the three of them overloaded, the energy wash from all three magnifying each mech's own, and forcing all three into shutdown.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

It was Prowl who roused first, and he eased himself off Optimus and checked both Jazz and his leader.

Judging by the degree of relaxation of Optimus's servos and the gentle hum from his recharging systems, it would be some time before he roused again: he must have already been in need of rest, for his body had skipped rebooting and gone straight into recharge, a full, deep recharge, not the light first-stage shutdown sometimes utilised when there was less than a joor available or duty might necessitate the mech in question to need to rouse suddenly.

Jazz, however, seemed to still have energy: as Prowl watched, Jazz's optics unshuttered and he smiled and reached for Prowl again. Smiling, Prowl shook his head, motioning him off Optimus and pointing to the fully-shuttered optics. Jazz nodded, sliding off both Optimus and the desk.

"I think we should leave our Leader to his well-earned recharge, don't you?" Prowl asked.

"Ya want us ta stop?" Jazz asked, disappointment colouring his tone.

"No, not at all, I've got the energy to continue if you have, "Prowl said. "I was more thinking of finding somewhere else to let Prime reboot in his own time and not be woken by our antics."

"Ya got an idea for a place?" Jazz asked. Prowl smiled.

"I know this base, Jazz and you don't. I can think of several _dozen_ places, and I think we should try them _all_."

"Then what are ya waiting for? Lead the way!" Jazz said.

Grinning, Prowl beckoned and moved to the door of Optimus' office, and Jazz obediently followed.


End file.
